the ways that you say my name have me running (on and on)
by bleuboxes
Summary: She knows that he doesn't know who she is, and that he'll probably never remember this in the future, but she will always cherish this – this feeling of being loved, of what she could have had if she wasn't such a coward, or if the circumstances were right.


Clara Oswald is old.

How old? She's not quite sure, and to be frank, she doesn't really care to know either. She lives her life like it's ended (which it _technically_ has) and tries her best to make things right; so maybe, one day, if she's lucky she'll see him again.

She hears a lot - he _is_ the Doctor, after all; and he's never been subtle when it comes to traveling. Everywhere he travels he leaves a footprint bigger and deeper than the rest. But it's a good footprint, a fossil - one that brings hope, and peace (for the time being), and prosperity everywhere it's imprinted.

It's a gentle reminder of what she once had, of what she will never, _ever_ forget as long as she's still walking and traveling and doing good for others. Those were the best days of her very long life, how ever short their number, and she won't give them up for anything (as she proved all those many, many years ago).

Clara's still traveling with Ashildr in their stolen TARDIS, but not all the time. Ashildr needs breaks from Clara's constant state of adventure, and often retreats to the hum-drum of life on earth for a few years at a time. Which Clara doesn't mind; she loves her friend, but eternity drags on forever when it's just the two of them.

Clara tries to stay as far away from earth as she possibly can; it's not the planet holds terrible memories; Clara thinks of it often and of it fondly; it's just that it's the place where she dies, where she saw the Doctor for the last time, and everything and anything in between, and well, it's a bit overwhelming, sometimes.

So, she reserves herself to observing the planet, and hearing of it through Ashildr's tales of the mundane. It's a nice break from the usual hustle and bustle of her life now.

Although, sometimes she aches with longing to go back (to how things were before).

* * *

Ashildr's been gone for a while. Clara just got back from Knowhere (where she helped a rag-tag group of bandits save the universe - it's a long story), and she's feeling exceptionally melancholy. She misses her friends, the children she used to teach, her family, the Doctor.

For someone who's met so many wonderful people on so many different planets, she's awfully lonely.

And that's when she decides that maybe it's time to start going out again.

* * *

She puts on her Sunday clothes, and heads out.

Clara's always been a flirt, and while she's never bragged about her partners (because they're people, not achievements), she's had some exceptional ones on her journey to stop feeling so alone – among which were an Asgardian woman of exuberant honor, a handsome pilot from some sort of intergalactic resistance (who was _really_ good with his hands), andwoman named America – and they were all very clever and good and just so reflective of who she wants to be.

Sort of like to Doctor.

(She really wishes all her thoughts would stop staying to the Doctor.)

It's been ages since she saw him, ages since she's been loved by him, ages since she had a friend in him.

So, when she's in a bar on a planet (of which the name she can't quite recall) and catches the familiar silhouette of the Doctor's younger face, she stands frozen in place.

She thinks she should turn her arse around and go to some other bar on some other planet in some other time. She thinks she should not go anywhere near him. She thinks of all the terrible things that have happened to her. She thinks of the Doctor, of her friendship with him. She thinks of how she's owed better than this – to be forgotten by her best friend – by the man that she loved so dearly.

So, she decides that she deserves to see him one last time before she dies (even if she isn't planning on heading back to Gallefrey any time soon).

Hopefully this encounter won't rip a hole in the space-time continuum.

* * *

She can tell us that she was not thinking when she walked over to his chair. She's not sure how her legs were moving, because her mind was numb to all other things not pertaining to The Doctor.

What is she going to say to him? Does he remember her? Have they met yet? Is he still traveling with the married couple?

She doesn't know, and she cares, but not enough to actually devise a strategy.

Except, when she approaches him, he looks so, so sad – sad like she's never seen before. She can tell that death is fresh on his face. So, he must not know her; Clara doesn't exist yet for him.

She can work with that.

She takes the seat next to him, not engaging him in conversation yet, but figuring out a way to start a conversation with him without seeming insensitive.

So, she orders a drink.

And another one.

And a few more.

Alcohol rarely has an effect on her anymore; it's both a blessing and a curse.

A curse in the way that it takes a shit-ton for her to get inebriated, a blessing in the way it gets a conversation started.

Apparently, he's taken notice of how she's had way too much to drink.

"I'm fine," she smiles – trying to act like he is a stranger; he is one, though, she hasn't seen him in so long he might as well be.

"You don't take four shots of that stuff and stay 'fine'." He counters with a scoff.

"You don't live for as long as I have without a killer tolerance."

"And how old is that?"

"Would you believe me if Isaid I stopped counting."

"I'm about to that point myself," he laughs, "but I've made it this long."

Clara smiles, "I suppose I can understand that." She orders another shot, "I'm Clara, by the way."

"The Doctor." He says after a while, "Nice to meet you."

Clara's pretty sure she wants to cry.

Instead, she laughs with him. She flirts and listens and drinks until she gets drunk for the first time in centuries. Until he takes her back to his TARDIS, to his room, where he worships her like a woman loved – gentle words, and lips, and touches.

Like she should have been all those years ago.

And it's really wonderful.

He's not as awkward as she thought he'd be. He is old, she supposes, and he's been married more times than she can count so that accounts for him actually knowing how this sex thing works (and he's actually pretty good at it).

She knows that he doesn't know who she is, and that he probably won't even remember this in the future, but she will always cherish this – this feeling of being loved, of what she could have had if she wasn't such a coward, or if the circumstances were right.

Clara Oswald knows she loved the Doctor, and she knows she'll always love him. And that's why when she wakes up the next morning, she gathers her clothes quietly and quickly, on her way of out of the maze that is the TARDIS, she thanks the machine for all of the distant memories. When she exits, she looks back once, and allows a few tears to creep down her cheeks before she hurries back to her own TARDIS.

* * *

"I think it's time."

"Time for – oh." Says Ashildr.

"I'm ready; I've been running long enough, I think."

Ashildr is quiet, clearly not sure how to respond to such a thing, but smart enough to know that death is a serious thing for her friend.

"If you're sure. Absolutely sure."

"I am. It's time."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

They smile, Clara kisses her on the cheek, then pounce at the console together, one last time.

And Clara's come to the realization that maybe she isn't lonely after all.

* * *

 **happy new year! reviews/favorites/follows are the bee's knees**


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